Good, Black Coffee in Paris … at Last!

It hadn’t started out as a very auspicious morning.  The cappuccino that I drank in the café next to my hotel was like so many others I had tried in Paris all week — great foam on top, but thin, weak coffee underneath.

During SIAL, I had a conversation with a coffee professional whose opinion I thought I could trust. I had confided to him that I was having a hard time finding a decent cup of coffee in the city and he made a face. “Le café  dans les cafes a Paris, c’est un catastrophe!” (Loosely translated, he said the coffee served in cafes is a catastrophe and shouldn’t be inflicted upon anyone. And according to his expression, animals either.) But he suggested that I visit Café Soluna, since he felt it was one of the few places that I could find a cup of coffee that I would enjoy.

Café Soluna is tucked into a small space on the rue de l’hotel de Ville. This small street parallels the Seine on the right bank.  Getting there was a short walk from the Latin Quarter, walking past Notre Dame and the tiny Saint Chappelle, which has the most remarkable stained glass windows I have ever seen.

The narrow space is divided into two rooms. The front has a several small tables, a retail counter behind which are about a dozen acrylic bins containing freshly roasted coffee beans, and in the corner is a small 2-kilogram roaster that had beans cooling in the tray when my party of four entered.

The back room contains an espresso bar with stools for sitting and some comfortable chairs and tables for lounging and enjoying drinks. The coffee is fresh-roasted daily, and all of the beans come from individual plantations. I asked if it was possible to get several different press pots to try.

In France, press pots are called café au piston. I was told that the pots were large and held eight cups of coffee. This was disappointing because I hoped to sample different coffees from different regions around the world, but the large cafes au piston would be too much coffee for the four of us.

I explained to Lola, the woman behind the counter, that I was simply interested in trying several different coffees. She laughed and told me that nobody had ever come in before asking to drink so many different coffees! She disappeared into the back room and reappeared shortly holding four small Bodum presses. “I think we can make this work,” she said. “Which would you like to try?”  I asked for her advice, and in the end we settled on a Guatemalan Coban, an Ethiopian Limu, a Rwandan, and a Monsooned Malabar from India.

Lola portioned out the beans and ground them into a small basket. The grounds were added to the small Bodums and filled with water and allowed to steep. She placed them on our table with small demitasse cups, and after several minutes we pressed the plunger down. I poured one cup of each one to taste. They were all very good, and it was fun comparing the very different origins against one another.

In order of preference, the Rwandan was my favorite. It was well-balanced and bright, with some citrus notes. The Guatemalan was good too, with chocolaty notes to it. I am usually a huge fan of Ethiopian coffee. This Limu had a very bright, consistent flavor with hints of lemon. The Malabar was interesting because it is not a coffee that one usually gets to taste in a retail setting.  The Malabar was good, but it had a thick and heavy flavor, particularly after the Rwanda.  I enjoyed trying it, but was glad that there were four of us so I didn’t have to drink it all.

The experience served as a delightful interlude and restored my faith in Parisian café society.  I left the store pleased that I had finally discovered good coffee in Paris.  It hadn’t been easy, but it was well worth the effort.